The Affairs of Wizards
by Night's Beloved
Summary: Life for a child of the Dunmer people in the Fourth Era is never easy, nor do the people of the bruised skin have the name 'Ill favored by Fate' mistakenly. The beginnings of this most fiery of Dunmer- soaked in the culture and faith of his people- are lain here; from his earliest childhood, to his early adult life. (NaNoWriMo entry, larger summary inside.
1. Prologue

**_DISCLAIMER AND LARGER SUMMARY:_**

This is the story of a Mer on the continent of Tamriel in the universe brought to us by the developers of Bethseda Softworks. DISCLAIMER:

Tamriel, Nirn, and all associated themes are the sole property of Bethesda. There is no profit made from the writing of this novel and is written for the sake of enjoyment and challenge. The only thing I own by creative concept is the story of Davmyn Uvirith.

Life for a child of the Dunmer people in the Fourth Era is never easy, nor do the people of the bruised skin have the name 'Ill favored by Fate' mistakenly. Such as the tale of Serjo Telvanni Davmyn Uvirith. The beginnings of this most fiery of Dunmer- soaked in the culture and faith of his people- are lain here; from his earliest childhood, to his early adult life. His tale will see his beginnings upon the island of Solstheim, and follow him through his many trials and tribulations as he embarks on a long journey that spans the course of nearly two decades.

Pride shall meet with hardship, Faith will be confronted with obstacles, and a sense of honor will wrestle with practicality.

Meddle not in the Affairs of Wizards, for they are often the most dangerous of affairs to be caught in.

* * *

 ** _"Is every Hero bound by the strings of prophecy? Or can a man make his own destiny and become a Hero because of his deeds. The educated scholar will tell you no. A man is but a man until he is doom-driven._**

 ** _But a man that tries to drive himself to doom? That is a frightening man indeed."_**

 ** _-Edecius Auriam, Imperial Scholar_**

 ** _4E177, before his hanging at the hands of a Thalmor Justicar._**

A gentle breeze rolled in across the Sea of Ghosts from the North. Though the breeze moved lazily across the waters, the Sea of Ghosts rippled and churned. Beneath those depths a slaughterfish raced along, fleeing from the waters that were touched by this gentle breeze. Where it went, the waters grew chilled. Some base desire to flee drove the slaughterfish like an arrow through the water, right into the claws of a dreugh. The creature's claw snapped down on its hapless victim before it too felt that chilling crawl of water that had been touched by that fell breeze. Its mandibles clicked together for a moment, before its tentacles lurched itself through the water with as much speed as it could.

This breeze rolled in across what at a casual glance would have been thought to be enormous roots, though closer inspection would reveal that they had been worked to serve as platforms out into the water. This breeze passed across a woman with skin the color of ash who was disembarking from the back of some aquatic creature, whose form beneath the waves cast a shadow that was unthinkably massive. Atop its chitinous shell grew what appeared to be a cabin made from fungus. The breeze blew passed her and sent her robes ruffling, before turning stoutly towards the south. The Dunmeri womer stood there on the docks, looking out in the direction that the frigid breeze had flown.

The Telvanni Master moved down the docks with a sweep of her robes. It had been almost ten years since she had joined the ranks of masters of House Telvanni, and since the massive destruction that had been reaped during the Oblivion Crisis when that terrible horde of Daedra had attacked, she had risen in prominence. She had led her tower settlement of Tel Uvirith against the Daedric hordes rather successfully, using the militia she'd built from her settlers, and the magics of her House, they had driven back the few Oblivion Gates that had opened up in the Molag Amur region. She'd worked with the Ordinators in the area, as well as the Buoyant Armigers. There had been a number of injured that she'd even allowed to continue dwelling there, promoting relations with the the Temple as it was reorganizing itself. Reynel herself fully embraced the changes that were being preached by the former Dissident Priests- who were now being called the Reclaimed Priesthood.

But now, she was forced to come here to Port Telvannis, the ancestral home of her House, the ancient Great House of Telvanni. Missives being sent by the Parliament of Bugs were never to be ignored; she didn't know exactly why, as there weren't even stories of what happened to those that ignored the Parliament.

That merely reinforced the idea in her mind that she was wise to come.

What she would have done to have garnered such attention, she had no idea. She'd opted out of Aryon's offer to become Magister and challenge Gothren for his position as the Archmagister of the Vvardenfell sect of the House; And what's more, she had nothing to do with his murder at the hands of the Nerevarine. There had been some scuffling over the position, though eventually it was Master Neloth of Sadrith Mora that had claimed the title of Archmagister of the Telvanni sect.

Reynel Uvirith would walk proudly amongst her people though, even if she'd not been to Port Telvannis in a handful of years.

Perhaps they'd finally noticed just how young of a master now sat at the Council of Vvardenfell's Telvanni masters? Perhaps they were displeased at such a youngling upstart claiming to be a master and someone meant to challenge her?

The fanciful thoughts amused her for a moment, but the reality was there was likely just some sort of papers that needed filled out that some mer had likely just had the care to think that should be filled out. She'd heard of the slow moving House's politics, that had often spent decades before adding a new noblemer's name to their records.

It wasn't until she stepped through the gates that led into the city proper for the home of the Parliament of Bugs that she realized just how small the settlements back home were. The walls themselves were made of the curling roots of the main Sadrith Tel that comprised the whole of the city-settlement, each building springing off from the original's spores. She thought that Sadrith Mora was large, but… She'd forgotten just how impressive the homeland was.

The great tower of Port Telvannis, which had stood since the First Era, was absolutely massive. So many spore pods that were filled with people were about. There were people milling through the roads, a vast number all doing business. Calls went out from kiosks beyond the gateway, that had the carved sigil House Telvanni on the massive stone. The great sweeping arcs of the roots of the Sadrith Tel were all over, growing through the ground at seemingly random intervals, and from many of these grew more spore pods, each one hollowed out and with a doorway set to their front. She'd entered through the main gate that led from the docks, and was definitely in some market district. She could even see the Sadrith grown cages that once held slaves for sale. Now though, they simply held beasts for sale. Ever since that Hlaalu puppet king for the Imperials had instituted the ban on slavery (with the surprising support of House Dres, a House known for being slavers), her House had suffered greatly. Once their slave markets had provided quite the profit, though now many were being repurposed and worked for the use she was currently seeing.

One of the Dunmer animal handlers was apparently having a rough time making a sale on a Nix-Hound that appeared positively vicious as it thrashed in its cage. She didn't bother to approach, having Dwemeri Amnunculi to protect her Tower Settlement, with plenty of guards besides.

It was beautiful, and she hoped that one day her great Tower would rival this massive place. She adjusted her shawl about her shoulders, though she doubted that this far from Red Mountain would there be any ashstorms of significant size to cause her the need for her breather scarf.

Regardless, the Telvanni Mistress found herself looking towards the Red Mountain again. She found a strange feeling settle over her heart. Some part of her felt a wariness, perhaps foreboding resonating from the sight of the volcano's silhouette. Perhaps it was simply seeing in perspective how small her little tower settlement was compared to the slopes that it was ever so near. This was, after all, the first time she was viewing it from such a distance, and even then to see the top she needed to lift her head slightly. Not much, but enough to realize just how massive that volcano was, visible over the walls of the home of all Telvanni.

"Impressive sight, isn't it?" asked a voice from behind her that set the hair on the back of her neck raising. It couldn't be…

The womer turned and found herself staring face to face with one Dunmer that she had no particular fondness for at all. She remembered him from the Oblivion Crisis; back in those days, he'd worn the tattered robes of a priest and carried a disillusioned look in his wine colored eyes.

After the Crisis, he'd settled his own crisis of faith and joined House Telvanni, and had been a particularly nasty thorn in her side as he'd been a favorite of Neloth- who was one of the nosiest Archmagisters in recent history. She sighed and brought a hand to her temple while looking him over. The mer wore his face wrong, smiling with his face like he were some human ape.

He hadn't changed much in the time since she'd last seen him; he still wore his hair long and hanging just past his chin, the top the color of blood, while he'd dyed most of the ends a darker, black color. The Hand of Ghartok had been tattooed on the left side of his face, leaving that side black. She doubted that many would look kindly on the mark that had once been used by ALMSIVI, although perhaps others would be pleased to see the standard of Nerevar if he were so inclined to spin the reasoning behind the tattoo that way.

Reynel knew that he'd simply gotten it to feel more like a native Dunmer, like the silly N'wah pretender that he was.

"Teldrys, what are you doing here? I thought that your master had dragged you off somewhere to the North," said Reynel with a roll of her eyes and moved to sweep past the man. He stopped her short though by stepping directly into her path. Reynel's eyes narrowed into slits.

"Actually, I sent for you, my dear Reynel," laughed the taller Mer as he moved in closer to her. She refused to move, refused to back away an inch and found herself in a position far too comfortable and familiar for her liking with the other Mer. "I wanted to catch up, since I figured that you hadn't visited Port Telvannis since your ascension to Master-Wizard."

He wanted to catch up. She was stunned, and positively livid all in one fiery moment. This FOOL wanted to catch up?! As though they were friends?

"The last time I saw you, Teldrys with no name worth mentioning, that if I ever saw you again I would feed you to a Daedroth," snarled Reynel as she glared up at the Dunmer with her hands fisting at her sides. "I distinctly remember telling you that."

To her absolute astonishment, the mer leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers. He opened his mouth to speak, but before even a word passed through his mouth, a soft tremor ran up her spine.

She lost interest in whatever it was that the former priest had to say, and instead looked over her shoulder towards the towering silhouette of Red Mountain. Something felt off; it was comparable to knowing you were alone, but still feeling eyes on your back. The next tremor that traveled up her legs from the ground was not nearly so gentle, and in the next moment… She wasn't sure what was happening. She knew that she'd been looking towards Red Mountain when everything suddenly changed, but she simply could not comprehend the sudden and complete wrongness of what she was seeing. It was… terrifying.

The sky had become black so quickly and suddenly as a gout of smoke and ash issued from the top of gigantic Mountain that had once carried the name Dagoth-Ur, followed by a sudden fiery red light piercing through the blackness. She knew, on an intellectual level what was happening. She could see it, feel it as the world trembled around her and she fell backwards into hands that were as gentle as they were assured in their grip. Which was to say not at all.

Red Mountain was erupting.

It started slowly, at first. Murmuring that rivaled the tremoring of the ground, but just as the great piercing light of the mountains fires had emerged so, so too did the screams begin in earnest. More and more of her people were realizing exactly was happening. More and more were suddenly aware of just how many friends, relatives, loved ones, and just people were on the island.

"Oh, Azura," she gasped, hands covering her mouth. She looked up to Teldrys, who was staring intently at the scene with his own mouth hanging agape. A thought dimly occurred to her that her home was in the path for that molten death that was now turning the whole of the island of Vvardenfell that same burning color. The womer turned her face away and retched softly, trying to pretend the faint buzzing in her ears did not sound like distant screaming carried over waters.

"... Your… Your tower," choked out Teldrys over the frenzy that had taken hold over the people that had just a few minutes ago been trading and talking and gossiping. "You could have…"

Reynel nodded slowly as the realization also dawned on her.

She would have been dead if not for one pretentious ass of an N'wah.

* * *

Small hands broke the trance of the dream, and the Dunmeri woman blinked her red eyes as she sat up quickly. Her head swam in the trappings of sleep interrupted before she finally settled her gaze on the disturbance to her rest- restless though the nap had been. Kneeling on the edge of her bed was a young child, a little Dunmeri boy with a pout on his face and bright red eyes the color of lava staring down at her face. A messy mop of red hair rested on his head, sweeping forward in front of those bright eyes. The womer sighed and gently rubbed her face as she removed the thin blanket from herself, exposing her night shift covered body to the chill air within her pod home.

It was a severe disappointment to the former Mistress of the now destroyed Tel Uvirith to again be woken and confronted with her small quarters, when she'd once been amongst the youngest of Telvanni Lords on Vvardenfell. With a gentle yawn, she reached out and gently began brushing the shock of red hair from her son's face. He frowned, shifting a bit beneath the shawl he wore over his shoulders and clothing. She'd heard this manner of dress had become popular amongst children of Vvardenfell, but with his small size, it seemed so comical on him, as the shawl which should have stopped above his elbows, instead fell all the way to his wrists.

She smiled fondly as she remembered the first time she had ever held him, how his tiny, frail body had fit into both of her cupped hands. And the first time he'd made his cry when she'd thought he'd not draw breath.

"Yes, little Scrib?" she asked as her yawn settled, looking on her son with soft eyes. He had her larger ears and the coloring of her hair, but as he grew closer to seventh year of living, she was beginning to see more of his father in him. Especially in the cheekbones; Teldrys had truly had the most stunning cheekbones, even amongst their angled featured race. "I thought I said I would be napping and that you shouldn't wake me until it was time to set out for Raven Rock?"

"But I wanted to go out and play, Mummy," said the boy, trying to unsuccessfully brush her hands away from her hair as his eyes lit with joy. The Dunmer wore their expressions in their eyes, not their faces. Her little Davmyn though was an odd one, as he often displayed more movement to his face than some others she'd met throughout her life. Perhaps this again was Teldrys living on through their son? "And you've been napping for three hours at the least!"

Reynel froze mid hair stroke of her son, eyes widening.

"Blast!" she exclaimed, leaping from her bed and very nearly sending her son tumbling to the floor. Her hands we quick to catch him and set him right upon the bed before she darted away. "Three hours! I should never have slept that long! Hurry child, go and fetch your shoes! Off with you, or we will miss Dusty!"

The boy laughed and, rather than leaping from the bed as she'd expected, instead held up his hands and she watched as he gathered magicka into them. Despite her desperation to dress, she found herself pausing to watch as the magicka formed cords around him and he brought his hands to his chest. With a wicked light in his eyes and his lips twitching, the Dunmeri boy leapt from her bed finally… but he did not go to the ground. Instead, her son began to levitate across the pod, straight to where he kept his shoes near to the doorway. Reynel smiled softly. He'd only just learned the spell last week! And, with the rate he'd been developing the skill and playing with it, she had no doubt that he'd quite the affinity for it. And perhaps any other spell from the School of Alteration.

Perhaps she had started him off a little early with some of the spells and skills she'd been training him in, but the boy had so much potential! And she would do nothing else but to ensure that her legacy would be secure through him. And what's more… any advantage such a small Dunmer would have in this world would be a great one indeed. He gently touched down on the ground, and picked up his shoes, dropping with a small oomph on his behind. When he noticed that she was looking, he tilted his head and asked in the innocent way that only children could, "Mummy, aren't you going to get ready?"

Reynel chuckled and nodded at her son, before setting to work on pulling her hair back. Even if they didn't quite make it to catch a ride on the Silt Strider that was beginning to slowly creep up in years, she was confident in her abilities as a wizard to safely bring them to the Temple.

"And don't forget to grab some ash yams for the trip, Scrib," said Reynel to the boy as he began to hop about, forcing his other shoe on his foot. "You know that Revus will not turn Dusty around because you forgot your lunch."

"Yes, Mummy!"

She didn't tell him that they may have to walk, as the boy had never walked free of either Raven Rock nor Tel Mithryn without being in the traveling compartment hollowed into the carapace of the Silt Strider. If he knew that being slow meant an adventure out in the ashlands of southern Solstheim, he would undoubtedly take longer to make sure they'd be walking. While she was confident, she knew the dangers of the ashlands were not merciful, between the Spriggans whose bark was charred black and still possessed the warmth of the Red Year about their bodies and the deplorable Reavers that stalked their coasts; Teldrys had learned that more clearly than she could possibly know. More than she'd ever be willing to let her son experience.

She let one of the few smiles she let crack her features spread for a moment, before it died away. The boy had stopped in front of the small shrine that they kept pushed off into a rather small spot in the corner of their home (if a rounded spore pod could be considered as having corners by virtue of furniture placement), where the boy knelt quietly for several long moments.

Davmyn always made sure to tell his father good-bye when they left home. She felt a small pang in her heart at that, and while her son was distracted let the moment settle fully over her. She missed that pretentious ass…

Taking a deep breath through her nose, Reynel forced herself to finish getting prepared for the day. Soon enough she was dressed in her robes and had her staff in hand. Davmyn was still praying before the altar.

"Davmyn," she said, trying not to let her own feelings of loss overcome her nor bleed into her voice, "We need to move, son. Otherwise you won't get to ride in Dusty."

The Dunmeri was silent for a few moments longer, before he stood up. When she drew close enough, the womer was quick to tie his hair up into a small topknot to keep it back from his face. His hair wasn't extremely long, not in the way that her own or his father's had been, but the boy seemed insistent that it needed to be in his face. He almost rebelled against the idea of anything less than that, unless she tied it just as she had now. It gathered most of it back from his face at a small knot at the back of his head, while the longer portions hung down his neck with some fringe framing his face.

The boy looked positively silly, and she often told him if he kept up with his ways, he'd have prettier hair than her own.

"Mummy, why don't we just walk?" asked Davmyn, and she just shook her head as she tapped his forehead with a single finger. The boy's eyebrows scrunched together tightly at that.

Of course, when Reynel opened the door to their home and saw the retreating form of the giant Silt Strider- a towering creature that was a conjuncture of long legs that would bring it easily height-wise to the cap of the main tower branch of the Sadrith Tel, and an almost barrel like body covered with a chitinous shell. She had no doubt that they would see it for the entire trip.

She looked down at her son, who was beaming up at her with bright red eyes.

"Looks like you get your _wish_ , Davmyn…" sighed the womer, and the boy let out a exclamation of joy. She had no desire to walk all the way to Raven Rock but… when needs must. Shaking her head as she took her son's hand, they set out on their long walk along the coastal ashlands of Solstheim's southern portion.

* * *

A/N: Well folks, here is the prologue to my NaNoWriMo entry; The Affairs of Wizards. I hope that you'll enjoy this tale I spin, and that I can make sure you remain with me the whole way.


	2. Sermons

_**A/N: There were some grammatical errors and time inconsistencies in the last chapter which I have now updated. Such as Davmyn's age, being three years older than what it was meant to start with. Now remember boys and girls, this is set during 4E160, so the majority of Raven Rock's population is still at its peak since the mines are still open. That would be why there may be some unfamiliar faces in this chapter.**_

He hummed softly with a light step alongside his mother, hand gripping hers tightly as he looked around; the ash covered ground was littered with trees from back a long time ago. His mother had told him when the volcano- which he often found himself gazing at during the Dawn Praise of Azura- erupted, it had blown many of the trees that had stood for centuries out of the ground, roots and all, lighting the forest that had once stood where they walked with flame. She also said it was why the funny glowing rocks were on Solstheim, the ones that Master Neloth liked so much.

Davmyn was more intent on trying to spot an ash hopper than he was with anything else, however. He wanted one as a pet more than anything, though his mother told him they didn't have room for a creature to care for. He never pressed further than that, as when she'd spoken that sentence, he'd seen a look cross her face that had made him uncomfortable. It was strange to think of his mother as scary, but that one time had taught him to not bring up the subject of pets again or anything to do with having too little room to play in their Sadrith Pod.

He loved getting out to stretch his limbs though, and even though his mother was insistent that he never wander too far from their home, he'd been using the spell she'd taught him to sneak up to the top of the Sadrith trees that surrounded their home, sitting on the caps and playing idly with the ash that gathered on top of them. Thinking of that game, as they walked he reached his free hand to the ground, and pulled at it with the power his mother called magicka. It was a power that all Dunmer were naturally gifted in, his mother had told him. It was great and powerful, and something that should always be respected.

He knew it let him do fun things, and the ash that rose from the ground to trail after them was one of them. It was something he'd been working on before his mother taught him how to _float_ like a Netch! He was quite proud of himself when he'd been able to manipulate enough of the ash into a trailing serpent like form. With little twists of his hand and wiggles of his fingers, he was making it slither like a snake would.

He didn't bother trying to hide his giggling, but he lost control of his ash snake when his mother suddenly jerked to a halt. He frowned at it, before looking up at his mother. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth hanging open slightly, eyebrows ever so miniscule raised.

"Is something wrong, Mummy?" he asked with a small tilt of his head. He'd never seen her look at him like that. Not even when he learned a spell particularly fast.

"What were you doing with the ash, Scrib?" asked his mother slowly. He watched her face stiffly return to her normal look, but her eyes were off a little bit.

"I was just playing with it, Mummy," he said, suddenly feeling a tad nervous by the intent way she was staring at him. She peered at him searchingly for a few more minutes longer, before telling him to go on. Now being observed with the full permission of his mother, Davmyn grinned before he pulled his hand away from hers. He held out both hands towards the ashy ground they walked on and closed his eyes; his mother was a very good teacher, and had given him a good deal of knowledge as to how to manipulate the world around him.

 _Exertion of will upon reality. Magic is only half talent, the other half is willpower._

Those lessons had stuck with him firmly throughout his learning years, and he put them to use now. He let his magicka trickle from him to the ash around them, and pulled up not one, not two, but three of the ash 'serpents'. With some effort, he was even able to get them to slither through the air. He was quickly getting tired now though. One was fun, but three was _work_. He reminded himself, that the other half was willpower and kept the snakes playing with each other, a small sheen of sweat forming on his brow.

His mother grabbed one of his wrists, breaking his concentration and causing all three of the ash snakes to fall to the ground with soft _poofs_.

"Mummy," laughed Davmyn as he grabbed his mother's hand, "You keep making me drop my friends!"

His mother chuckled above him and leaned down to gently smooth back the hair on top of his head, saying as she shook her head, "You're a very special little boy, aren't you Davmyn?"

He felt his ears grow hot, but he beamed at his mother regardless. He couldn't imagine what it would be like without her. He took his mother's hand in his again, and they continued walking. They'd been staring at the back end of Dusty for a long time, and he was beginning to think it was the Silt Strider's fault he had yet to see a single Ash Hopper. He'd only ever seen a few his whole life, and two of the three he'd only been able to spot thanks to his levitation spell and perching on top of one of the Sadrith Trees.

He began to hum a soft tune to combat the low and sad sounds that often came from the Silt Strider ahead. Davmyn wondered why poor Dusty made those sounds so much; maybe Dusty being alone was part of it. He frowned at that before looking up at his mother. He wasn't alone, and he made sure that she wasn't alone either, so that made things alright in the end he supposed. But he began to wonder if she missed father? He'd only spoken to him from beyond the Waiting Door, and though he could ask him anything, the words were… fuzzy. His mother told him it was only because he was so young, and his father was not very long gone from this world. Once he grew and laid a better ground work on the foundation for his worship, then he would be able to speak with more Ancestors than just his father.

Perhaps he'd even become his Ancestor Guardian, like the stories his mother told him of great and powerful Dunmer from the Second and Third Eras who had ancestor spirits that were attached to them and protected them.

"Mummy?"

"Yes, little one?"

"Do you miss… Do you get lonely?" he asked with as innocent of a tone as he could manage, while looking up at his mother. She didn't look down at him, but frowned softly. It wasn't a particularly deep or fierce frown, but one that seemed troubled.

"Sometimes, I suppose," said his mother with a sigh. The womer gave his hand a gentle squeeze and looked down at him with her red eyes brightly lit. He'd heard that some outlanders didn't like a Dunmer smile because it was strange seeing their eyes shift between the different shades of red. But to Davmyn, it was the most calming thing he'd ever see. "But I have you and my work for Neloth that keeps me busy."

He noticed that she had simply called him Neloth again. It was strange to him. The past few weeks she'd ceased referring to the Wizard-Lord as Master Neloth, at least when they were alone. He began to wonder if there was something going on between the two of them.

The rest of the trip was spent in silence, and Davmyn did eventually spot an ash hopper, though it was quickly sent fleeing after his mother lowered her staff and blasted near it with a bright flash of lightning based magicka. He almost laughed, and it ended up being the highlight of a rather dull trip. It would have been more fun if his mother let him investigate the ruined fort that overlooked the coastline halfway between Tel Mithryn and Raven Rock, but she was adamant that he remain at her side, and she made it clear that she had no desire to investigate the ruin herself. That left nearly an hour of long walking with nothing to do but watch the rolling of the waves as well as a family of Netch at play above the waters. It wasn't much longer after that when they could see the Bulwark that protected the Redoran Settlement from the ash that often blew in from Vvardenfell.

He could see Dusty beginning to turn away from the edge of the Bulwark where a small platform had been made for embarking and disembarking between the two Dunmeri settlements, though there were only a few people that came from Tel Mithryn to Raven Rock, and the only people that ever came to Tel Mithryn from Raven Rock were simply returning home. He wondered why the Redoran's here didn't seem overly fond of them, but he figured it had something to do with House Telvanni being better than them. His mother and Master Neloth always talked about how House Telvanni was the greatest of the Great Houses, and even greater still than the ones that had fallen from the Grand Council's- whoever they were- favor.

Davmyn always thought that it was strange going through the tunnel that would lead into Raven Rock proper, and the guards in their scary golden armor that flanked the tunnel simply nodded at the two of them as they passed. He couldn't see their faces past their helms, and translucent resin visors hid their eyes from his view. He often thought of the Guards as just suits of armor given life, until he saw one familiar figure coming towards them. Davmyn beamed up at Captain Veleth when he approached them, waving wildly.

The shaved headed Redoran Guard nodded down to him, and offered a small nod to his mother in turn.

"Here for Sermons, Mistress Uvirith?" asked the Captain, and Davmyn didn't fail to notice the way his eyes lit up as he looked at his mother. Captain Veleth was a nice mer, he had decided a long time ago. He was always nothing but smiles for his mother.

"I am, Captain Veleth," said Reynel, guiding him away from the main roadway and to the right, where the large stairs led up to the Temple. She knelt by him and with a small poke to his forehead told him to go and play, but be mindful of Elder Othreloth. You remember what happened last time when you nearly knocked over a burial urn."

He did, and the wrathful look upon the former ashlander's eyes was not one that he ever wished to view again. It had genuinely frightened the Dunmeri child. He nodded to his mother and raced up the stairs, nearly stumbling and having to adjust to running on all fours for a moment just to keep from falling. He heard the laughter of his mother and Veleth from behind, and his ears burned softly, But he was giggling. There were already a decent number of people gathered outside of the Temple. The Temple itself was actually too small to hold massive sermons inside of the structure, so all large gatherings were primarily outside on the patio offered by the front of the Temple. Davmyn spotted a few of the local children from Raven Rock, at least one of whom- a girl by the name of Braila Andrano- was his age. The Redoran children, on seeing him, turned away. He frowned softly, and the small Dunmer didn't try getting their attention again.

He hoped that one day he could play with them, but the schism between Redoran and Telvanni seemed to run more in the children than it did in the adults. No one ignored his mother when she spoke. Or maybe it was just his size, as he was nearly a head shorter than the youngest of the group of Redoran children.

The Dunmeri child frowned at the others, before he felt a heavy hand drop on the top of his head. He nearly jumped from his skin, but found himself looking up at the wizened face of Elder Othreloth.

"Well, hello there Davmyn Uvirith," came the drawling voice of the Temple Elder. Davmyn often wondered if Lady Mephala herself had a hand in crafting the man's face, for the spiderweb pattern of his wrinkles could have only been crafted by the Webspinner Herself, at least in his mind. "I assume that you're mother is here as well."

The way the older Dunmer worded the sentence he had no doubt that it was no question being asked. Davmyn nodded and pointed down the stairs, telling the Elder that she was speaking with Captain Veleth. The Elder nodded and led Davmyn towards the Temple, and gestured upwards.

"Well, little Scrib," said Elder Othreloth with a great heaving sigh, "Have you given thought to whether you will walk the ways of your House Telvanni, or walk the ways of the Temple?"

Davmyn was confused by this question. What did the Elder mean, 'walk the ways' of one or the other? He frowned and asked slowly, "Can't I walk both, Elder?"

The Mer looked down at him, and Davmyn was struck by how soft his eyes seemed. For as long as he could remember, he'd never seen the old ashlander's eyes quite so gentle. They were always stern and like the steel of the Northmen that sometimes wandered into the ashlands to hunt the Netch that lived nearby.

"Perhaps you could," chuckled the Elder, setting a hand on the top of his head as he knelt in front of him. Davmyn again noticed how much bigger everyone was than him when one of the children that had ignored him passed by, giving him a strange look. His attention was drawn back to the Elder as the older Mer sighed. He was not looking at him, but looking upwards towards the Temple.

"It's not been often that the Temple and House Telvanni have been on the same path," said Othreloth, and it seemed to him that the priest was no longer talking to him. "And perhaps it is possible. Reynel seems to be managing well enough, as well as that Revus fellow."

Davmyn tilted his head at the man with a small, perplexed found twisting across his features. Now he really had no idea what to say to the man.

"You're being strange, Elder Othreloth. Do you feel well?"

A laugh rumbled from the priest and he pat Davmyn on the head, "Oh, I'm fine. Never forget that the safest place for your thoughts is within your own head, and when there is no danger, there is no reason to shy from drawing into your own Provisional House within your own Secret Door. Saint Vivec, the Warrior-Poet, was quite known for that."

"... Wasn't Vivec a liar? Didn't he trick the Dunmer?" asked Davmyn with a tilt of his head. He thought he'd read that somewhere during one of the hour long study sessions his mother had him partake in every day. From the expression in Othreloth's eyes, he felt as though he'd pleased the other Dunmer in some manner.

"Vivec was one of the Three Thieves, yes," nodded the Elder with a smile in his eyes. "One of the Three saints that, though they wished to help the Dunmeri people, they had in fact sheltered us. As children, and so without the protective arm of those who were as our parents, we were not ready for the devastation that came with the falling of the Ministry of Truth."

"And… it fell because people didn't love him as much anymore, right?" he asked, trying to remember everything he had learned. The books had been very confusing, and the only reason his mother said she had them were for the memory of his father. She said that he'd worked very hard to collect all thirty-six, wandering all about Vvardenfell as he did so. Davmyn personally found the… Lessons? To be very confusing. "It was in those books? The… Lessons books?"

"... You've been reading the Thirty-Six Lessons of Vivec?" asked Othreloth with an astonished glance. "Where… I mean, who let you read _those_?"

Now the young Dunmeri child shifted uncomfortably; Othreloth's face had moved, and it was so strange to see. It was a drastic shifting of his features, and he felt… strange, looking on the leather gray face twisted so dramatically. No one in Tel Mithryn's face moved like that, not even his mother's beyond the small smiles she would only rarely make, and that were gone as quickly as they appeared.

"They were my father's," he answered honestly, thinking that he'd offended the Mer in some way. That softness entered into the Mer's eyes again and he nodded, asking what he'd thought of them. "Well, I didn't understand a lot of what was being said. It… doesn't make sense to me, and I only read a few."

"The lessons of the Warrior-Poet were shrouded in mystery, much as Mephala," said Othreloth, as he tilted his head. He looked as though he wanted to say more, but stopped and his eyes flicking to Davmyn's right,far above his shoulder. "Ah, Reynel. You have a very bright child here, knowing already that the Lessons are a little too confusing for him right now."

He looked behind him quickly to see his mother standing there, her face drawn somewhat. Now he felt as though he'd truly done something wrong, but his mother reached down for him and lifted him up. He felt his stomach flip a little as he was lifted and set on her hip. If he'd been the size of the other children, she'd probably stumbled a little and in all likelihood, he doubted that she would have done it. He felt tiny, and it made him uncomfortable as he felt more pairs of eyes on him. He didn't want to be treated like a little child. He wanted to be strong like Dunmer were supposed to be. But he held his tongue as his mother's voice sounded… very terse.

"They were his Teldrys', if you recall," said his mother, and this close to her face he could see the tightness at the corners of her eyes. She was irritated. "A former priest of the Tribunal Temple, and still the words of one of the Saints."

"I understand that, Reynel," said the Elder placatingly, hands held up with palms facing her. In Tel Mithryn such a gesture could have conveyed that Master Neloth was readying to fry someone, but he didn't get that feeling at all from the Priest. "I'm simply concerned about some of the content of those books for such a young child. We must ensure that he understands certain… items concerning those books."

"Davmyn, little Scrib?" said his mother, not looking away from the Elder. "Who are the Three? Whom do we have to praise?"

He was confused by the sudden question, but he answered without hesitating, "The Three are BOEPHAZRA, Blessed Boethiah our God-Ancestor, Lady Mephala the Webspinner, and Holy Azura, our mother of the Dawn and Dusk. We praise them, and our Honored Ancestors who have passed before us through the Arena that is Tamriel, gift of Lorkhan to walk and know ourselves. We praise the Saints and we praise Nerevar, our Twice Hortator who freed the Chimer from the shackles of the Nords, and again the Dunmer from the false worship and the Sharmat's Blight."

He spoke very slowly and very carefully so as not to trip over his words. It had been something his mother had been teaching him for as long as he could remember. Faith was a very important part of their lives, and he knew that particular praising thanks to his mother drilling him on it once in the Dawn and again in the Dusk.

Elder Othreloth's brows rose very slightly, and Davmyn frowned. He felt like he had missed something.

"Well, I see that you have him well in hand then. Forgive my intrusions," chuckled the Elder, and he looked Davmyn in the eyes. "As I said to you, your mother walks the ways of both Temple and Telvanni very well. Perhaps you two are the change that is needed."

After that his mother went and sat on one of the pews that had been sat out with the other Dunmer of the settlement and Davmyn was left on the front rug that had been lain there for the other children to sit closer and hear the weekly sermon. As usual, the other children sat away from him, leaving the small Dunmer to sit off by himself. He was glad that his mother was at least seated on the pew directly behind him. At least then he didn't feel completely alone.

"Today, we're going to discuss the Seven Graces," said the Elder as he stood at the head. "One in particular is going to be the subject of this Sermon. Tell me, children. Do any of you know all of the Seven Graces?"

Davmyn's hand shot up quickly, and he stared up at the Elder. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see none of the other children had raised their hands. In fact, he could feel them staring at him, like to burn a fiery hole through him. Othreloth shook his head softly at the other children before he looked to Davmyn and told him to go on.

"The Seven Graces, which we praise our Honored Ancestors for, are Valor, Daring, Justice, Courtesy, Pride, Generosity, and Humility," answered Davmyn immediately. The Elder's eyes brightened, making him feel like he'd finally done something pleasing. He felt his little chest puff out at getting the answer so quickly.

"Yes, very good," said the Dunmer Elder, clapping his hand together. "And today we will discuss the Grace of Justice. 'Thank you for your justice, Honored Ancestors. I shall be neither cruel nor arbitrary, for fair dealing earns the love, trust, and respect of our people.' In my Sermon last week, we discussed the Oblivion Crisis, of which our Reynel Uvirith here is a veteran. A womer who led her settlement to victory over at least two Oblivion Gates."

There were murmurs from behind Davmyn, and when he glanced over his shoulder, his mother was sitting ramrod straight and her eyes were closed. He could see a dark flush along her ears though. Why was she embarrassed? She'd told him stories of those times before as he loved hearing stories of when she and his father had been alive and together. Even if in those ones she made it clear that she hadn't liked him, because he was a silly N'wah.

"The Grace of Justice was exemplified quite fully by Mistress Uvirith of House Telvanni, as she offered shelter to the Buoyant Armigers- many of whom were House Redoran- and Ordinators of the time that had been injured in those battles in the Molag Amur region. Even working with them with her own House spellswords and hirelings to fight back; working together, House Redoran, House Telvanni, and Temple fought against the hordes of the Corner, Mehrunes Dagon, and did what Redoran and Telvanni could not do on their own."

The Sermons went on for awhile like that, and Davmyn found himself drawn in by the stories. He had always loved hearing the history of their people, whether it be from his mother's lips, the words in a book, or from Elder Othreloth's impassioned speeches.

After the Sermons were finished, his mother said there were some things she wanted to pick up in the market, but the girl from the group of children closest to his size came over as his mother was reaching for his hand.

"Are you staying long?" the girl asked, with a small tilt of her head. He realized that she was probably a little younger than him, but she was still taller. "I wanted to know if you had time to play with us a little?"

He looked over to his mother with wide red eyes. Her eyes were as wide as his own. He'd never been asked to play with the other children, not since he could remember coming to the Temple every week for Sermons; and his mother had been bringing him since it had been safe to bring him out into the ashlands by the way of Dusty.

With a soft sigh, the womer nodded and patted the back of his head, "You can play for a little while, little Scrib. Just be careful."

He beamed up at his mother and had barely told her thank you before he was chasing after the girl, who laughed as he followed her down the stairs that would lead back to the town. Raven Rock was waking after the Sermon, and Davmyn found himself maneuvering around the legs of miners ready to go to work in the Mine, and others navigating the marketplace. But he was slowly losing the girl in the crowd. Her longer legs was widening the gap between them faster and faster. That wouldn't do to the little Dunmeri boy.

He gathered his magicka and with a quick spring, sent himself floating over the heads of many of the adults. He heard several exclamations, but the boy was more intent on bridging the gap between himself and the girl. He managed to land in front of her as she broke free from the crowd, and she skid to a stop across the ashy road, her mouth agape.

"You… float?" she asked, dumbfounded.

His eyes lit in amusement at her wide eyed expression.

"It doesn't matter if he floats," said a nasal and nasty voice behind Davmyn. He looked over his shoulder, brows pinching together. "He's a Telvanni, and he doesn't belong here."

Stepping out from around the corner of one of the shell-ruhn's, were three of the other children from the Sermon. They were the largest of the grouping, and the one that was speaking had sweeping black hair flowing down his face.

"Ashahul, what are you doing?" asked the girl behind him, and Davmyn suddenly felt trapped. He took a small step backwards as the other boy's eyes narrowed.

"Teaching this Telvanni baby necromancer that House Redoran has no need for him here."


	3. Ruminations on the Arcane

_**A/N: Yeah, I know, cliffhanger. Here's the next chapter! Also, apologies for the delay.**_

" **Every generation faces its own hardships. But there is nothing harder for the generation than itself in their earliest years."**

 **-Canon Drelys Sivadi, 4E3**

The boy frowned tightly as the the older, larger Dunmeri boy took several threatening steps towards him. His magicka flared for a moment, and just as the boy reached for him, Davmyn threw his arms up between them. It was little defense against the larger boy's hand as he shoved his small body to the ground. Davmyn gasped as his back hit the ash dusted road hard enough to drive the air out of his lungs.

The boy moved to reach down from him, and he closed his eyes and held up his hands in a clawing motion.

He heard a cry of pain and when he opened his eyes, his mouth fell agape; coiled around the other boy, Ashahul, from his wrist to his elbow where tendrils of ash. Blood seeped from where the ash had grasped him, and upon seeing this, Ashahul threw his head back with a scream. He jerked and jerked at his arm but no matter how hard he pulled, the ash only grasped tighter.

He was horrified at what had once been his plaything suddenly hurting someone. He pulled himself to his feet slowly, eyes wide and focused on the churning ash poised around the boy. Ashahul had also not failed to notice the ash creeping up his arm, and began to scream anew.

"Davmyn!" a voice cried from behind him, startling him so much that the ash that had grasped Ashahul's arm crumbled away. Reynel stood there with a horrified expression naked in her eyes. "What are you doing?"

He tried to reply but no words could come from his mouth. They died in his throat at the look on his mother's face, and he saw more than just his mother looking down at him. None of the people were friendly looking. So many red eyes were turned on him in anger.

"Ashahul started it," a small voice said from behind him. It was the girl that had invited him to play to begin with. "He pushed him first, and then the ash grabbed him."

There were a few mutters from the adults, before pushed their way through the crowd. Davmyn watched as the womer swept right over to Ashahul's side and quickly began examining his arm. Her baleful red eyes shot up at him, and he flinched away, grasping the shawl he wore over his torso.

"Even if my son did start a scuffle, there was no reason to use magic on him!" she snarled, her eyes darting up to his mother. "But what could be expected of a Telvanni, even a small one?"

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and glanced up to see his mother standing over him, frowning severely.

"If your son is to start scuffles with a Telvanni, than he should expect nothing less," she shot back, before guiding him away and through the crowd. He tried to hide in her side as the numers mer looked down at him, and the boy felt their anger coming off of them in waves. "Come, Davmyn. I don't think Revus and Dusty have left yet. We're going home."

The ride back to Tel Mithryn was quiet, neither Revus speaking as he normally would, nor his mother. Davmyn remained quietly seated on the transportation seat that had been hollowed out into Dusty's carapace, watching as Revus poked at some exposed soft parts to guide the giant insect. He had no idea what to say, no idea how to act with his mother so silent towards him; the silence was grating on him, and he finally had to say something.

"Mummy?"

The womer turned her head, seemingly startled out of whatever thoughts had been in her mind at the time. She didn't verbally respond, only lifting an eyebrow slightly at him in a manner that said he could continue.

"I didn't mean to do it… I didn't even… It just happened." He squirmed under that stern gaze, and found himself staring down at his feet from his seat. He hugged his torso, wishing that it could stop the feeling of bursting from vibrating through him.

"We're going to develop this little skill of yours, Davmyn," sighed his mother, and he sniffled as he felt her arm drape itself around his shoulders and pull him closer to her side. "But first we're going to teach you to control it. I am very happy that you've discovered how to manipulate ash, all on your own. I'm very, very proud of that my son. What I'm not proud of is that now there is a boy in that town that will have scars on his arm because of your ability. Even if he did attack you first, magic is not a plaything my son; what happened back there is why people have such a negative opinion on our House. Why they think that we're so dangerous and unpredictable."

He nodded softly and burrowed into his mother's side. He didn't even want to play with the ash anymore. He wanted to go back to the town and play with that little girl, whose name he'd never learned. The first one to have ever invited him to play.

And he'd ruined it.

He let his eyes slide closed and with one final shuddering sigh, drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Reynel stared down at the top of Davmyn's head as he began to gently snore. She'd had reservations about letting him go off to play, but… She'd thought it was safe enough, thought that it would be harmless. The womer sighed and rested her head back against Dusty's carapace as she stared up to Revus.

"So, I take it that Second Councilor hasn't had his morning breakfast yet?" asked Revus from up front where he guided the Silt Strider along the ashy wastes. That made her scoff. The pretentious bastard had the nerve to call her son a blighted menace!

"I'm not concerned with what some puffed up Redoran has to say about my son," she quipped with a shake of her head. "Nor am I concerned with next week's Sermon. We're still going, but next time Davmyn will not be leaving my side."

"I don't think that he'll be asked to come play next time," said Revus thoughtfully, though when he glanced back at the severe expression in her eyes, he quickly amended, "Not that he needs to be playing with soft Redoran children that think they're lords of Morrowind."

Reynel stared at the back of Revus' head for several long moments, before beginning to gently stroke Davmyn's head as he slept. The mer's words weren't… false. When they went back next week, Davmyn would be shunned more than likely. Even if the girl had spoken up in his defense, it was extremely doubtful that any of those children's parents would allow them to play with the strange Telvanni boy again. A heavy feeling settling over her chest, Reynel hugged her son to her side a little more firmly. The boy nuzzled against her, and she fought back moisture developing in her eyes.

"You should drape something over top of Dusty's passenger seating," muttered Reynel, angrily swiping at her eyes with the sleeves of her robe. "Dust is getting in here."

The mer didn't respond, other than to nod his hooded head softly.

They made decent time back to Tel Mithryn, and after she'd disembarked- carrying Davmyn's limp form in her arms- Reynel quickly disembarked and made to head for their Spore Pod. She'd scarcely made it twelves steps towards her door when an angry voice yelled from the entrance of the main tower. She sighed softly and looked in the direction of the yelling. There stood Neloth, berating his young apprentice, Ildari Sarothil. The girl couldn't have been more than fourteen, and she truly pitied her for having Neloth as a master.

"If you can't cast something so simple, then what use are you as an apprentice?!" snarled Neloth, his long beard pressing against his robes as spittle flew from his mouth. "Go and find Reynel! Perhaps she will have the patience that I do not in explaining exactly WHY you shouldn't summon a scamp in the middle of the Tower when you can't dominate the thing!"

The girl's voice was too quiet for Reynel to really understand what she'd said, and she hurried to her home so that the girl could both find her more easily, as well as to lay Davmyn down. She should probably wake him, but with the events in Raven Rock behind them, she understood his exhaustion.

She'd no more stripped his traveling garments from him and lain him down on his small bed before there was a rapping at the round wooden door set into the organic wall of her home.

"Enter," she called to her visitor. When Ildari pushed her way into the small dwelling, she was unsurprised to see tears of frustration in her eyes. "Hello, Ildari."

The girl had a shock of white hair that was swept back from her face, and she wore the traditional robes of an apprentice of House Telvanni that were slightly singed at the hemming near her feet, as well as another near her shoulder.

"I failed," the girl groused, "at summoning the lowest of Oblivion's denizens. Master Neloth bade me to find you that you may 'explain the many reasons for my incompetence'. So, please explain how a _scamp_ of all things was able to… defy me. Like a child!"

Reynel nearly went on to explain how children were by their nature very defiant, but her son began to stir in his cot. Angrily the womer held a finger up to her mouth, and then pointed to the door; she understood the girl's frustration. Summoning denizens from the realms of Oblivion had become much more difficult since the Oblivion Crisis.

Once they were outside, she began to delve into her lecture, "Well, where did you summon the scamp from?"

On Ildari's admission of the scamp's origins she very nearly laughed aloud. _And this is why the knowledge from the Temple is so useful, whatever Neloth may claim!_

"The Deadlands is the realm of Lord Dagon," she said with a small tilt of her head. "The Prince of Destruction and one of the Four Corners. Summoning denizens from his plane has been a difficult task since the end of the Third Era. When the last Septim sacrificed himself and the Amulet of Kings, it reinforced the boundaries between Nirn and Oblivion. Now, where did you learn that spell from?"

"A book that Master Neloth had laying about, stored away in a crate," muttered the girl, looking away and crossing her arms with a small pout. She wasn't overly surprised she supposed, considering it was doubtful that Neloth would willingly teach a spell by actual teaching, rather than demonstration.

"Well, that book was more than likely dated," sighed Reynel with a small shake of her head. "You have to be careful with such things, especially in the School of Conjuration. After the Oblivion Crisis, many of the old ways of the School were… changed. Using some of those old ways, and the old paths, can lead to disastrous results. This time it was you being unable to control the Scamp. It could have been a lot worse, such as trapping your mind in Oblivion."

She took no joy in frustrated expression on the girl's face, and frowned at her, "We'll start with understanding the connections between our plane and the plane that you wish to call forth a Daedric summon from… But I warn you, pulling forth a creature from the Deadlands is dangerous. Especially if one decides they're quite displeased with the results of their invasion. Two defeats in one Era is rather a cause for anger, and the Prince of Destruction has never been one known for his taking well to loss… Now, when you think about that fact, coupled with the knowledge that you're binding your consciousness to another creature- one that is infinitely older than you- in an attempt to control it, do you think that it would be simple in any normal circumstance?"

Ildari gave a small shake of her head, and she couldn't help but let her eyes brighten in laughter at the girl's suddenly timid nature. She'd known Ildari since she came to Tel Mithryn just after Davmyn's birth. She'd been only a little older than her son at that point. Perhaps a year.

Just what it was that Neloth had been searching for in such a young apprentice had never been quite apparent to Reynel, though she was beginning to suspect that it was the girl's simple ambitious nature. She did tend to exemplify the Telvanni stereotype of being power driven; though the same could be said of Neloth. The Mer had not hesitated to establish himself as the Archmagister of Vvardenfell, before he'd abandoned Sadrith Mora and Tel Naga to found his little pet project _Sadrith Tel_ here on Solstheim.

She'd heard rumors that the Mer had information suggesting that Red Mountain would have erupted and that was why he'd fled. As much as she wished to believe those rumors, she'd come to realize since coming here in the sixth year of this Era just how wrong those rumors were; Neloth wasn't some machinating plotter who had saved his skin while abandoning the capital of Telvanni power on Vvardenfell because he knew something no one else did. The buffoon had simply gone off to study the rocks that had been blasted onto Solstheim so many years ago...

 _Centuries, actually… You're not getting any younger, and you and Teldrys were fools to have a child so late in your lives._

She looked up to find Ildari staring at her in confusion.

"Ah, it seems I became lost in my own head," chuckled Reynel with no real mirth. The girl nodded slowly, and her eyes flickered with amusement at the womer. "The curse of getting old, it seems. It's likely why Neloth is the way he is. He has quite the number of centuries on me."

* * *

He sat up slowly, blinking the sleep from his eyes as he looked around. He was back home, laying in his bed. He noticed, gathered into a neat little pile on his bed and surrounded by ash, were his traveling clothes, along with the oversized shawl that his mother had him drape around himself every day before going outside.

 _When did we get home?_ He wondered as he rubbed his hair. The events from Raven Rock came spinning back to his mind; how he'd hurt that boy, and the looks he'd gotten from all of the town mer, and most importantly, the look that he'd been given by his mother. At least she had defended him to the others…

The Dunmeri boy stood from his bed slowly and looked back at it; his cot had ash around his pillow from where it had gathered in his hair. The boy frowned softly and held out his hand, intending to remove the offending ash and take it outside… but he froze.

What if he did something bad again…?

A deep frown settled over the boy's features.

 _No. Nothing bad will happen, because there isn't some…. Some…. S'wit, trying to beat me!_

Just as before when he'd been showing his mother on the trip to Raven Rock, he carefully began to pour a trickle of magicka out. The ash slowly floated upwards from his bed, and with his other he removed the ash from his clothes. He brought the two sources together and created a larger lump of ash; just as before the ash was completely under his control. He was deciding what it was going to do, and there were no strange thrummings from that power that his mother called Magicka pulsing like one of the strange red rocks out in the wastes.

He thought of that little girl again, and slowly the ash began to take shape, wrapping and moving around itself, rounding out in some places with others twisted out into harsher angles. By the time it was finished moving, it had formed into a poor mimicry of a Dunmeri child's face with 'hair' pulled into pigtails.

It was a poor and sloppy copy of the girl, but… it was something.

A small frown traced itself along his features, and he stifled another sniffle. Holding his hand out again, the face changed, twisting into the face of that boy. Ashahul.

Davmyn stared at his would have been attacker's face. This copy was much more clear; this one seemed more like the face of that mean boy. He recalled every detail as he stared up from the ground, and when the boy had suddenly come at him with anger burning in his eyes.

 _What did I do to you? I just wanted to play… Why did you push me?!_

His brows tightened at the swelling of anger in his chest, teeth clenching and he felt a sudden pulse in the energy that held the ash aloft. It felt like it _needed_ to be released and his hand tightened as well, trying to just flex away the extra energy.

The ash boy's face was crushed, cheeks collapsing inwards while the chin crushed upwards towards the nose. The eyes disintegrated and the image was so… vivid, startling him so badly that he lost his grip on the magicka that was binding the volcanic cinders in the air.

His mother was right, he realized. He could have hurt Ashahul, and worse than he realized at the time. He found his arms wrapping around his torso once again, and he closed his eyes.

 _Maybe I shouldn't play with them. What if I just end up hurting more of them again. And Ashahul's mother probably hates me too…_

He was struck by the fact that his mother wasn't back yet. He found himself staring at the door, wondering if he was even supposed to be up. He disregarded it and once again had the ash moving, though this time sweeping it with a broom. Difficult as it was to get the too tall shaft moving properly; he had managed to scatter most of the ash rather than get it to the door like he had wanted.

He scowled down at the ash and wagged the broom at it, "Do as I say! You're supposed to be heading out there! Not getting all over... "

Groaning, the boy dropped the broom and stared down at the ash. He frowned, realizing that he was getting no where and in fact had made the mess quite a bit worse. He was just beginning to extend one hand to begin gathering it all up when he heard the door open to his left. He stopped short, and found both his mother and Ildari, Master Neloth's apprentice, appear as they stepped through. His mother was looking around with a severe frown on her features, while the Ildari girl was simply staring at him.

"Davmyn, I assume that you have quite the little story to tell me as to just why our home is covered in ash."

After a few moments of gathering his thoughts in a nerve wracking panic, he managed to stutter and stammer out his story of just how the ash had managed to go from being in his bed and on his clothes to suddenly being everywhere across the floor, and with some puffs stuck on a desk (how he'd quite managed that one, he hadn't figured out yet himself). By the end of it, his mother had lost her frown, and Ildari was staring at him in confusion.

"How are you moving the ash with your magic?" she asked suddenly and with a long frown across her features, before the girl suddenly turned on his mother. "Are you teaching him this?"

"No," admitted his mother as she came over and picked the broom up and looked around the room. "He learned how to do it himself… I've been trying to figure it out myself, if I am to be completely honest with you Ildari." At this, her red eyes turned on him as she put the broom back to its spot on in one port of their home. "Davmyn, I want you to use that same spell that you were using to get the ash out of here."

Davmyn frowned softly, but nodded. He knew better than to disobey his mother, whatever his level of comfort. You did not defy your elders, who were your living and future Ancestors. The word of a Dunmeri parent to a child was to be treated as law, just as his mother had told him since his earliest days.

He reached out with his magicka, just as he had done for her before, but now without any of the exuberance that he had exhibited on their trip. He wasn't feeling like he could trust his friend anymore… or maybe, he couldn't trust himself. He gathered up all the ash that he'd scattered, drawing it in along the various threads of magicka that he sent out from his hands. The ash responded immediately, and danced along those threads, coming back to form not a lump but something closer to that writhing tendril-snake form that he'd created before. He didn't want to see the lump ever again, and thinking of what had happened when he had lost his temper unnerved him. Though it was more the imagination of what would have happened had he lost his temper like that when the boy had first assaulted him.

With his focus on the magicka wavering for that moment as he thought of what could have happened, and the ash hanging in the air became less cohesive. Its form drooped and a few stray particles began to chip away, but with a redoubling of his efforts as he added his other hand they fell back into the overall form of the serpentine tendril hanging in the air.

"Open the door please, Ildari," came his mother's voice over to the side. A small trickle of sweat ran down Davmyn's forehead as he felt his magicka reserved being poured into maintaining the ash. He looked over as the girl did as she was commanded, and then his mother told him to remove the ash. As it was cast out the door, he whipped it more than he'd at first intended in his hurry to be rid of it.

He had felt his magicka reserves begin to dwindle, and it was tiring. He'd need to be out in the sun for a bit, knowing that magicka was connected to Magnus' Departure from the Sermons spoken by Elder Othreloth.

The ash though, in its hasty departure, whipped across the ground outside and created a small furrow in the loose dunes that gathered as were their nature. He blinked at that, and his mind turned as he realized that if that had been a person, he'd likely have hurt them. He slowly looked back over to his mother, and from the expression in her eyes, it was easy to tell that she'd followed that same line of thinking that he had.

"... I was going to say Telekinesis but…" said the girl standing at his side, staring out the door when he looked back to her at her voice. "There was too much control. How does he have that much magicka in his reserves?"

"He was born in Rain's Hand, under the sign of the Mage," said his mother, and he felt her hand drop on the top of his head and gently begin to brush his mussed hair back. Frowning, Davmyn kept himself from trying to push her hand away; the only time that he liked it when she played with his hair was in the morning when she'd style it. Otherwise, he was just content enough to simply forget that he had hair and wanted nothing to do with the maintaining of it. "He has quite the reserves of magicka as a result, and I've seen him cast spells some that are older than he simply do not have the reserves for."

Before he could even begin to bask in his mother's praise, Ildari gave him a look that wasn't altogether friendly. He shied back from her slightly, though her eyes softened after a moment.

"Well, that would be useful with Neloth as a master… If he ever taught me anything worthwhile," sighed the girl. At the disappointed look in her eyes, Davmyn shifted slightly before stepping forward and grabbed the hem of her apprentice robe. He wondered for a moment when he'd receive his own…

"Have you asked him to teach you more?" asked the child, timidly as he looked up at her. He'd only encountered Ildari a handful of times over the years as Master Neloth would send her to his mother when they'd argue. A sour look crossed the older girl's eyes, and he withdrew his hand immediately.

"I have," the girl muttered, crossing her arms and glaring at some indistinct thing on the floor that he couldn't see. "Thank you for the lesson, Mistress Reynel. I will remember what you've taught me about Conjuration."

"And you agree not to attempt summoning a scamp again until you mastered your thoughts, correct?" his mother asked with a questioning tone, and Davmyn beamed up at her as she lifted an eyebrow.

"Yes, and not to drift off to my thoughts machinations as they seem to snare you," said Ildari, and Davmyn couldn't help but let a small giggle escape from him at his mother's expense. The womer cuffed him on the back of the head, and then it was Ildari's turn to laugh. "Thank you again, Mistress. I will go back to my duties then."

He waved good-bye to the girl before looking up at his mother. She was staring down at him.

"Davmyn, I need to speak with you," she said, kneeling before him and setting her hands on either of his shoulders. He nodded slowly, and averted his eyes. Her finger and thumb caught his chin though and drew his face back towards her, and his eyes focused on hers. "Look at me, now boy."

He did, and with tense attention. His mother rarely used that tone and when she did it was always nerve wracking.

"What you did in Raven Rock, that can not happen again. Do you understand?" At his small nod, he felt his mother's grip tighten on his shoulder slightly. It was a reaffirming grip, and though he shifted uncomfortably from the hand's pressure, he didn't try and draw away. "Not unless your life is genuinely at risk. Magicka should not be reactive, your spells and abilities are not something you use as a knee jerk response, son. As a person skilled in Magicka, you must, _must_ remember that you have a responsibility to control your magicka. You have a responsibility not to hurt others by _mistake_ ; only bring pain to those that deserve it. I meant what I said… we are going to develop this skill of yours, my son."

He nodded slowly, and shifted his weight as he hand left his shoulder, asking with a pensive feeling, "When, Mummy?"

"Right now."


End file.
